Stray
by Space Opera Singer
Summary: It was so easy to forget that Ezra grew up on the streets, since when he wasn't picking pockets and slicing locks on missions, he had the personality of a mooka pup, all bright eyed and eager for attention. But then there were some moments when it was really driven home that there was a lot more to Ezra beneath the cheerful teenage façade he showed the world.
1. Death Sticks

Chapter One: Death Sticks

It was so easy to forget that Ezra grew up on the streets, since when he wasn't picking pockets and slicing locks on missions, he had the personality of a mooka pup, all bright eyed and eager for attention.

But then there were some moments when it was really driven home that there was a lot more to Ezra beneath the cheerful teenage façade he showed the world. The streets aren't kind to anyone, let alone children, and seven years spent scared and alone, not just believing but _knowing_ that no one was going to save him, had left scars beneath the physical ones from his time on the streets.

Those moments never failed to take Kanan, Hera, and the others by surprise, and always left them reeling and stunned. Like, for instance, the death sticks incident.

It was supposed to be a routine smuggling job. They'd pick up cargo from a supplier, who Vizago supplied them coordinates for, with assurances that they'd be expected. They'd bring the cargo back to Lothal and drop it off with Vizago. They'd get paid. It was one of the easier jobs the broken horned thug handed off to them. Or at least it was supposed to be.

Kanan knew the moment he laid eyes on the suppliers that they were there to meet that this arrangement had just gone south. Drug peddling slythmongers always had a certain feel to them, like their life force was dampened in the Force. That and numerous other symptoms, since most of them were addicted to their own merchandise. Shaking hands and twitching eyes being the major two, but there were plenty of others. Kanan had seen more than his share of addicts and drug peddlers and knew that the people they were meeting were exactly those. So it came as no surprise to find out what their cargo was.

"They're all here. Twelve cases of death sticks, as promised," the lead slythmonger said with a greasy smile as he opened to one closest to them for them to see.

Uncomfortable glances were exchanged amongst the Ghost's crewmates who were present. Transporting spice was always a gray area for them, and one that was darker than they liked to go into, but at least spice had medicinal value.

Death sticks on the other hand were a recreational hallucinogen, and highly addictive. They were essentially poison and Kanan didn't want anything to do with them. But unfortunately, they didn't have much of a choice. The slythmongers were armed to the teeth, and were all too twitchy to even think that they would take kindly to the Ghost crew backing out of their deal. Trying would likely result in a shootout. Kanan was confident his team could win it but there were other factors to think about too. Like Vizago, and what it would mean for their future in working for him if they left this deal hanging.

So Kanan had to make a tough decision. "Right. Load 'em up," he ordered his team. Zeb and Sabine stepped toward the crates with only slight hesitations, trying to hide their uneasiness for the sake of the mission. Ezra stayed where he was.

"I think perhaps you are forgetting something, my good human," said the lead slythmonger. "It is one thing to dispense with formalities. But it is quite another to ignore the time honored procedures of this trade."

"What procedures?" Kanan asked warily.

"We need to sample the merchandise," said Ezra, his tone flat.

"What?" demanded the other three rebels in unison.

"The transaction won't move forward until we do," Ezra told them.

"The boy is right of course," the slythmonger said with a leer.

"That's not happening," Kanan said flatly.

"Kanan, they're not going to give us the crates until we do," Ezra said, looking at him sideways. "They're not even going to let us leave without trying to fill us with holes unless we do."

"And the boy is right again," the slythmonger said, fingering his blaster, left within easy reach. "For how else do we know you are not Imperial customs agents, no?"

"Do we look like Imperials to you?" Zeb demanded, stepping forward, hoping to intimidate.

"Imperials won't sample the merchandise because their own backup would turn them in for it. They have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to drugs, and all Imperial customs agents work on commission. And they're cutthroat enough to eliminate anyone in their way of a larger cut," said Ezra, his tone making it clear that he was surprised the others didn't know this. "If we want these crates, one of us has to sample it, Kanan."

"If that's the only way we get these crates, then we don't want them," Kanan said, his eyes boring into the slythmonger's.

"Then, my friend, it seems we are not friends after all," said the slythmonger dangerously. "It seems we have a problem."

Behind him, the other slythmongers started reaching for their weapons.

"Oh for crying out loud," Ezra said.

Then, before anyone could think to stop him, before Kanan, Zeb, or Sabine even realized what he was doing, Ezra reached into the open crate, snagged a death stick, and popped the top off, one handed, the way only someone with experience could.

Sabine didn't even have time to gasp. Kanan and Zeb didn't even have time to order Ezra not to, or make a grab for him, before Ezra had put the cylindrical vial to his lips and leaned his head back, holding the tiny glass tube with his lips alone, draining the entire contents down his throat.

Then he spit the empty vial to the ground at the slythmonger's feet.

"There. Satisfied?" he asked, right as Kanan grabbed his shoulder roughly.

The slythmonger tossed his head back and roared laughter. "You, you have spirit, human boy. Most must mix death sticks in a drink. Few can toss them back and not even make a face."

"The trick is you don't let it touch your tongue," Ezra said, looking defiantly at the slythmonger, but not resisting when Kanan pulled him back a few paces. "Now do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, yes. The crates are yours," the slythmonger said. "Take them and give Vizago my greetings."

"You. Back on the Ghost. Now," Kanan ordered.

Ezra shrugged him off. "I'm fine. I've got a few minutes before it kicks in."

"I don't care. Get on the ship _right now."_

Ezra, stubborn as always, quickly activated the antigravity mechanism on a row of three joined crates and started pushing them back toward the ghost. "Aye aye, captain."

"Karabast," Zeb swore, looking like he didn't know whether to throttle the kid or the slythmongers.

"What were you thinking?" Kanan shouted the moment they were all on board, with the damn crates in the hold.

Without even thinking, he'd latched onto both Ezra's shoulders, hands squeezing hard enough to leave bruising behind. "Damn it, kid! Don't you ever do that again!"

"What's going on? What happened?" demanded Hera as Chopper beeped in alarm at this confusing development.

"That cargo Vizago sent us after? It's twelve crates of death sticks!" said Kanan furiously. "And when the slimy slythmongers offered us a sample, Ezra took them up on it!"

"Ezra!" Hera gasped, both hands flying up to cover her mouth.

"That's not what happened!" Ezra argued. "They didn't offer. They expected one of us to take it, to prove we weren't Imperials. They wouldn't have given us the crates without it!"

"So we would have left the stupid crates!" Kanan roared.

"We would have had a firefight on our hands then," said Ezra.

As he looked defiantly up at Kanan, Kanan swore he could see the kid's eyes dilating as he spoke, the black centers growing to blot out all the blue.

"We would have handled that!"

"And what would we have told Vizago? What would he have said when we showed up without his crates?"

Kanan tried to reel in his anger, but it was in vain. "I don't care what Vizago would have said! I care about you!"

"Kanan, I'm fine," Ezra said, trying to shrug Kanan's hands off his shoulders. Unsuccessfully. "It's not like this is my first time being a tester."

"What?" Kanan asked, grinding his teeth, then repeating the question with his jaw still clenched. _"What?"_

"I used to do that kind of work for Ferpil," divulged Ezra. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not an addict. Ferpil made sure I had enough time between each dose so that I wouldn't get addicted. He treated me better than most."

Chopper beeped a not so friendly opinion about that. Kanan ignored both the droid's very accurate commentary, and Ezra's idiotic belief that Ferpil treated him in any way resembling decent even remotely. That was a rant that wouldn't be finished anytime soon and would likely end with Kanan ordering Hera to set a course for Capital City so he could hunt that poison peddler down and teach him what happened to people who pushed drugs on Kanan's Padawan.

"Kid! Every time you use death sticks, it shortens your lifespan! They wreak havoc on your immune system and they dampen your connection to the Force!" Kanan shouted. "Let me make one thing clear, right here, right now! As long as you're my Padawan, as long as you live on this ship, you will never use death sticks or any addictive, recreational spice, ever again!"

"But if I hadn't –"

"I don't care what the reason is! Never again, Ezra! Do you understand me?" Kanan said sternly.

Ezra stared up at Kanan with big eyes that were almost all pupil. There was only a slight ring of blue around the edges of his eyes.

His breathing patterns had changed, growing more shallow, and faster, but there was understanding in his eyes that made Kanan think that what he'd just said had gotten through to the kid. Then the kid went and opened his mouth.

"Your eyes are blue."

"What?" asked Kanan dangerously.

"Your eyes are green," Ezra seemed to change his mind.

A dangerous growl was emitted from the back of Kanan's throat.

"Stop, Love," intervened Hera. "Now is not the time."

Kanan opened his mouth to argue.

"He didn't understand why what he did was wrong before the drug took effect," said Hera. "He's certainly not going to understand now. Wait until he's himself again. And wait until you're yourself again."

"I –"

"You're so angry, you're growling more than speaking. I can barely understand you. And now's not the time to be yelling."

Kanan looked down at Ezra, who was staring intently at Sabine's armor, probably fascinated by the colors, or more precisely, the way the death stick had changed how he was interpreting colors.

Kanan had learned all about death sticks. All Padawans in the temple learned about drugs, especially ones that could affect their ability to use the Force. He wished that he'd thought sooner about putting that into Ezra's training. But he also realized that probably wouldn't have made a difference.

Because Ezra undoubtably knew all the side effects of death sticks except maybe how they dampened his connection to the Force. And he had taken one anyway. For the mission.

Hera was right about him not understanding just why what he'd done was wrong. Someone had conditioned him to think that it was okay for him to toss back death sticks if he thought the situation required it, regardless of the drug's long term effects. Kanan would have liked five minutes alone with whomever that someone was.

"Hera. Hera, since when is your skin pink?" Ezra asked suddenly, trying to make an escape from Kanan's grip, or rather, trying to get to Hera and not seeming to realize he was being restrained. He looked confused when he didn't make it far. "Hera, I thought you were green, like a daisy, but now your skin is pink . . . or . . . orange?"

"Come on, kid," said Kanan, his anger turning into exhaustion. "Let's get you some water –"

"I want juice!"

"Then you're going to sit down for awhile," Kanan said, wishing they could let him sleep this off, but he knew they needed to keep him awake, so if he had a bad reaction to the drug, they could catch it immediately. "Hera, go ahead and take us to hyper space –"

"I want to watch!"

"No." Kanan didn't want to see the kid's reaction to the stars turning into lines as they made the jump, or the cloudy, blurry nothingness of hyper space. The kid was in a state of euphoria now, but Kanan didn't know how long that would last before it gave way to a panicked or depressive state. He'd rather the kid not be in the cockpit when that happened. "You're going to come with me, and sit in the common room, and drink your juice, and stay calm.

"Yay. Juice."

* * *

Kanan kept an eye on Ezra throughout his little episode. It was worrisome but Ezra was better behaved when he was high on death sticks than he was normally. Aside from his tendency to get hung up on the psychedelic colors that he and he alone could see, he seemed almost normal, just subdued.

At first.

As the drug's effects wore off, over the course of the hour, he grew more quiet and seemed to shrink in on himself. Unexpected noises startled him, from Zeb unexpectedly entering the common room, to Chopper coming in and beeping a query about Ezra's mental state. By the end of the hour, Ezra retreated to a corner and scrunched up in it, knees drawn to his chest, his face pressed against them, and his hands clamped over his ears.

"Kid?" Kanan asked hesitantly, causing Ezra to flinch. "Ezra?"

"Go away," Ezra whispered.

Kanan sighed and sat down beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush, causing Ezra to flinch even further away, trying to make himself even smaller in his corner. Kanan eased away, but only an inch or two.

"I'm not going anywhere, kid. You're not alone."

* * *

Two hours later, Ezra finally uncurled from his ball, lifting his head wearily toward Kanan.

"Hey," said Kanan, his heart seizing up a little at the defeated look Ezra was giving him. "Feel better?"

Ezra stared at him like Kanan was missing something. "Drug's worn off," he said finally, and let his legs slide down so they weren't clamped to his chest. He winced slightly from having held that position for so long.

Kanan stood and held a hand down to Ezra, intending to help him up. He frowned when Ezra recoiled again, as though he'd brandished a knife at the kid. He fought back a sigh and retracted his hand. "What do you need, kid? How can I help you?"

"I just . . ." Ezra lowered his gaze and didn't answer.

Kanan watched him for several seconds then sat down beside him again. "This might not be the best time . . . but this is too important for me to put off for later, Ezra. What you did today . . . you are never to do again."

"But I didn't do anything wrong," Ezra protested, giving Kanan a look like a puppy that had been kicked and couldn't understand why.

"You did, Ezra," Kanan said, steeling his resolve. "You risked your life for nothing."

"For money. We needed it –"

 _"No._ Kid, just no." Kanan was careful to keep his voice gentle, but firm. He couldn't shout at the kid, not when he was looking like his heart was made of glass, but he couldn't let what he'd done stand either. "Those things take chunks out of your lifespan. The money isn't worth it. It's not even close to being worth it."

"But –"

"No buts," said Kanan. "Kid . . . Would you be okay with me taking death sticks and carving weeks off my lifespan?"

"No, but –"

"I – We feel the same way about you," Kanan said. "You do things like that and you'll break Hera's heart. And mine."

"But I'm used to it. Better me than any of you –"

"No," Kanan said, raising his voice slightly, then pausing for a breath when Ezra flinched. He could tell he wasn't getting through to him. "I don't care if you've – actually, that's not right. I do care that you've used death sticks before. It makes me angrier than you can imagine. Not at you," he added quickly when Ezra started to shrink in on himself. "At the people who gave them to you. You're a kid. You're not supposed to be carving pieces off your lifespan with drugs, for money. And you're not going to ever again. Your life is worth too much to risk it so carelessly."

He could tell that Ezra still didn't understand why what he'd done was wrong. And maybe it wasn't within his power to make him realize that, at least at this time.

Hopefully in time he could make his Padawan see the value he and the rest of the crew placed on their youngest member's life. But until that day, Kanan would have to use temporary measures to achieve what he wanted.

"If I ever do catch you using drugs again, whether it's because you think we need it for a mission or any other reason, we'll be suspending your Jedi training for three months while you meditate on what you've done."

From the horrified look on Ezra's face, Kanan could tell that, at least, had gotten through to the kid.

* * *

I usually don't read, watch, or play any books, movies, or games that aren't space themed. Because I'm a bit of a space opera junkie. But I met the author of _the Façade Novellas_ while playing Destiny, so I made an exception and read her urban fantasy books, and her character Stray reminded me of what I wanted to see more of in Ezra. Don't get me wrong, I love Ezra, but his character has definitely been Disneyfied.

Kids who grow up on the streets, are at constant risk of starving, exposure, and being victims of horrific crimes. They grow up faster and tougher, and drop their guard a whole lot less than anything rated PG would have you believe, and they often have different perspectives on what's right and wrong. I'd just like to see more of those tough edges and grey areas when it comes to Ezra's character. But hey, that's what fanfiction is for, am I right?

Death sticks are a Star Wars canon drug. More info on them is available on Wookieepedia, your one stop reference for all things Star Wars. Seriously. I practically lived on that site for a month after I discovered it.


	2. Hunger: Part One

It was brought to my attention after I posted Chapter One that there's another Star Wars Rebels fic called "Stray" by RadicalCat. After I learned this, I checked with RadicalCat, to make sure I wasn't stepping on any toes, and RadicalCat said it was fine to keep this fic's name as it was. (Thanks again!) But Radical Cat's Stray fic is awesome, so please check that out too!

* * *

Chapter Two: Hunger

Alderaan was unlike the usual planets the crew of the Ghost visited. Usually they stuck to rural backwater rocks or occasionally polluted, industrial planets, with moderate to low Imperial presence. But Alderaan was different. A nice agriculture-based, peaceful planet with almost no Imperial presence on account of its refusal to deal in anything arms related.

Not, Sabine mused, as they made their way back through a bustling market street, that it meant that weapons couldn't be manufactured by those with a little ingenuity here on Alderaan. Chemical compounds were chemical compounds, and could be made to explode on any planet.

And an upcoming mission, Hera and Kanan told her, was going to require a lot of explosives. As in more than they'd normally be able to get their hands on. Enough to bring down an entire mine, because the Empire's mining operations on Lothal were getting sinisterly out of hand, and Fulcrum had sent some dark suspicions about what they might be bringing to light.

Which was why they were currently on Alderaan, buying chemical fertilizer in bulk. Those were chemical compounds Sabine could work with. She and Zeb were both pushing crates of the chemical fertilizer, while Ezra pushed along one filled with powdered mineral suppliments to be used as a catalyst.

Sabine glanced back at him, walking several yards behind them, which had made her suspicious at first, because she knew he hadn't completely abandoned his pickpocket ways. He'd claimed that not walking right beside them was for safety reasons, because he didn't want them all to blow up if they call got hit by a rogue speeder or some such nonsense. Even though Sabine explained that the raw materials would be harmless, even if mixed. It would take half a dozen steps of chemistry to turn them into explosives.

Now, looking back, Sabine could see that she'd been right to be suspicious of Ezra. He was munching on a Liwi fruit, and by the looks of it was halfway finished.

"Ezra," Sabine hissed, stopping. "What did we tell you about stealing?"

"Not to do it unless you say to do it," Ezra said.

"So what is that?"

"I didn't steal it," said Ezra defensively.

Sabine gave him a disbelieving look.

"I _didn't."_

"Then where did you get it?" she demanded.

"I found it," said Ezra.

"Where?" Sabine asked, unconvinced.

"In a trashcan."

Sabine's jaw dropped. Then she found herself cringing in disgust. "Ezra!"

"What?" Ezra asked defensively. "It was right at the top and only had two bites taken out of it!"

"I don't believe you!"

"I'm not lying!" Ezra started to look a little hurt and annoyed.

"What's going on?" asked Zeb, pushing his crate back to hear what they were saying.

"Sabine doesn't believe that I found this," Ezra said, showing Zeb his Liwi fruit.

"I believe that you found it! I just can't believe you're eating it out of a trashcan," said Sabine. "Ezra, that's disgusting!"

Now Ezra was the one to cringe and Sabine felt a twinge of guilt, but why she didn't know. She looked at Zeb for support, and found the expression on his face hard to read.

Then Zeb reached out and for a hot second, Sabine thought he was going to snatch the fruit away from Ezra and throw it on the ground or in another can where it belonged.

Instead, Zeb patted Ezra's shoulder and then motioned for them both to start moving.

"Come on. We need to get back to the ship."

"But –"

"Come _on,"_ Zeb repeated.

"At least make him get rid of it!" persisted Sabine.

"It's _mine!"_ Ezra protested, and quickly took a bite, swallowed without taking the time to chew, and then took another bite.

"It's unhygienic!" said Sabine.

"I doubt it was in the can very long," Zeb said impatiently. "It still looked fresh."

"That isn't the point," protested Sabine as Ezra continued to scarf down his Liwi fruit, almost like an animal who thought its dinner would be taken from it.

"This isn't worth the scene you're making over it," Zeb said and this time when he looked at her Sabine got the distinct feeling that the look he was giving her was one of disappointment.

Which made no sense! She wasn't the one eating garbage out of trash cans!

Listening to Ezra slurping the juices out of his fruit a few steps behind them as he bit into his trashcan Liwi fruit did not make Sabine feel any better. By the time they reached the spaceport where the Ghost was docked, Sabine was fit to burst with frustrations.

Kanan, waiting on the ramp for them, took one look at her aggravated expression, then one look at Ezra's feral one, then gave them a look that clearly said, "I don't want to know," and turned on his heel to leave.

"Kid, go with Kanan," Zeb said before Kanan could get too far. "Sabine and I need to talk."

Sabine felt her face flush as she caught the surprised expression Kanan sent back at them. She could tell that he'd thought that this whole mess had been Ezra's fault, _which it was,_ so he didn't understand anymore than Sabine did why Zeb wanted to give Sabine a talking to.

And Ezra, who usually protested being separated from Sabine, and made up clumsy excuses to stay near her, didn't argue for once. He didn't even look at her, just hurried after Kanan, who stiffened as Ezra drew nearer, then put a hand on Ezra's shoulder like he thought the kid needed comforting. And then Sabine remembered that hurt look that had come over Ezra's face when she'd announced that what he was doing was disgusting.

Zeb waited until they were gone, and he and Sabine had stowed the fertilizer crates before starting their little talk.

"Sabine. Have you ever been really hungry?" Zeb asked. "I don't mean just skip a meal kind of hungry. I mean the kind of hungry where you go so long without eating that you can't concentrate or think about anything except how hungry you are?"

"Well, no," Sabine admitted. She'd been pretty hungry at times, but she'd never been _that_ hungry.

"Never been a whole day without eating?" Zeb asked.

"No," she admitted again.

Zeb nodded like he expected as much. "Good. I'm glad."

Sabine waited, sensing he wasn't finished yet.

"Before the Empire came to Lasan, I'd never felt that way. I'm sure there was a time or two I missed a meal, but I can't remember it now," said Zeb. "After my home planet fell, everything changed. It was only for the kindness of strangers who helped me after I got off world that I didn't starve. And I'm not too proud to say that some of those strangers fed me garbage from trashcans. Garbage that they'd picked out and planned to eat themselves."

Sabine's throat went tight. "Zeb . . ."

"It's something I'll never forget. People who had nothing, giving up what little they were able to scrounge, to keep me from starving." Zeb suddenly looked twenty-years older and twenty-thousand light years away. "Live through something like that and you'll never look down on people who have to eat out of garbage cans to survive either."

"But Ezra doesn't have to do that anymore!" protested Sabine. "I don't . . . I mean, I get why people who have nothing have to do that, and I'm not judging them, but Ezra doesn't have to. So why –"

"It wasn't that long ago that he _did_ have to, Sabine," Zeb said. "Old habits die hard. He said he's been on his own since what, age seven? Eight years on the streets is a long time."

Sabine was quiet, thinking this over.

"I don't think Hera's ever had to learn those kind of survival skills," said Zeb after giving her a few moments. "But I know Kanan did. He doesn't talk about his days right after the Old Religion died much, but from what little he's said, and from how he acts, there's a lot you can guess."

"You think Kanan had to eat out of the trash too?" asked Sabine.

"I'm almost positive he did."

It made Sabine want to cry. The thought of three of her friends being forced to eat from garbage cans so they wouldn't starve. She could imagine a few things worse, but not too many. Three of the best and bravest people she knew so close to dying that they'd eat trash to survive. It was horrible. It was _wrong._ Ezra, Kanan, and Zeb should _never_ have had to do that.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ezra's the one you need to tell that to, Sabine," said Zeb. "Not me."

"I'll tell him too," said Sabine. "I'll tell him, Zeb, I just . . . you . . . Kanan . . . You shouldn't have had to do that. I'm sorry."

Zeb's expression softened at the sight of her tears, and he reached out to pat her on the back briefly as he stepped past her. "You're a good one, Sabine. Just remember, your words can hurt worse than you might think."

Her words had hurt Ezra. And after everything he'd been through, Sabine didn't think he deserved to be hurt anymore. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulder. Then she went to go find Ezra. She owed him an apology.

* * *

No Sabine bashing intended! Or copywrite violation, though I did get inspiration for this chapter from a parallel scene in Façade Novella 4. I wanted to write that scene in a proper space setting, which is where all good stories belong. And Sabine and Zeb are a good deal more sympathetic than Blaire and Declan when Stray finds a soft pretzel in a trashcan.

Compare Sabine's reaction to Blaire's and you'll see I wrote Sabine like a Saint. And Zeb is a whole lot more mature than Declan who is more amused than anything else, but Declan being a sociopath is oddly part of his charm.

Oh, and if you're wondering, during that part where Ezra was following Kanan out of the cargo hold, Kanan did feel Ezra's hurt through the Force when Ezra got closer to him. And even though he didn't know why Ezra was hurting, he was obviously going to try to stop his pain. Um, not sure if I should make a follow up chapter to this incident or end it here, and go on to the next incident. If you've got an opinion please either let me know in a review or message me. Thank you!


	3. Hunger: Part Two

Some people had a problem last chapter with how, in the past, Kanan and Zeb had to resort to eating from the garbage to survive. It is canon, as seen in Kanan: The Last Padawan Comics that Kanan did pick food out of dumpsters after Order 66.

And Zeb, though not too much is known of his history, is in canon a genocide survivor. So it is not by any means a stretch to assume that he had to do some unpleasant things like eating out of the garbage to survive.

But let's look at this from a realistic standpoint rather than a Disneyfied standpoint: eating trash would have been far from the worst part of his experience with genocide. That would have taken a backseat to watching his friends and comrades get disintegrated by T-7 Ion Disruptors, and knowing that was the fate that met his family, everyone he grew up with, and just about everyone else he'd ever known.

Because that's what genocide is. Not going on the run then starting over with a new job to put food on your plate. It's not a question of means, size, age, or ability to find work. It's a matter of evading an entire regime that has slaughtered the vast majority of your kind and is hellbent on murdering you too.

And though the horrors of what people who had experiences like that will never be, and I agree shouldn't be shown in a cartoon that airs on the Disney Chanel, this is fanfiction, so we're not bound by the same rules and regulations. This fic is rated T for a reason, and that reason is that I'm planning on being brutally honest about what the universe is like.

If it bothers you that I'm portraying characters in a way that I feel is realistic by having them eat out of the trash to survive, or you feel that it is "not appropriate" to show them like that, then I must recommend that you not read further. It's not my intention to deliberately offend anyone, but I don't intend to "tone the angst down" as has been demanded. If my writing is not to your liking then please find something else to read instead.

Flames by unregistered guests will continue to be removed. And Private Messages of similar content will be ignored. Unless the sender can give me a good reason why they're more upset about the idea of these characters eating out of garbage cans so they won't freaking starve than they are about someone using drugs. Because I would really like to know why so many people are so pissed off over the last chapter when I didn't get a single complaint about Ezra doing drugs in Chapter One.

Getting off my soap box now before my rant becomes longer than the chapter. If you're still reading, I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

* * *

Hunger: Part Two

"Kid, go with Kanan," Zeb said. "Sabine and I need to talk."

Not looking at him, Sabine, or even Kanan who had paused at the top of the ramp, Ezra felt his face burning as he made his escape from the cargo hold. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces, like the one Sabine had been giving him.

Kanan tried to stop him before he could get out of the cargo hold with a hand on his shoulder.

"Kid? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing," said Ezra, trying to be cold, and trying to brush past Kanan.

Kanan's grip tightened on Ezra's shoulder, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to keep him from getting away.

"Ezra? What happened?"

Ezra didn't want to tell him. If Kanan looked at him the way Sabine had, Ezra just might snap.

He wrenched out of Kanan's hold and glared up at him. "I didn't do anything wrong!" he said angrily, then made a break for it.

Or tried to. Kanan caught him again, this time by the back of his vest.

"Then what happened, Ezra? Talk to me. Why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset!" Ezra protested. "So let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

Ezra glared at Kanan, then back at Zeb and Sabine, who were stowing the crates they'd just picked up, and willed his master to understand. Understanding crossed Kanan's face, and his mentor guided him out of the cargo hold and to the common room.

"I can feel that you're hurt," said Kanan, pressing Ezra down into the bench behind the holochess table. "Talk to me, kid. Tell me what happened?"

Ezra looked down at the pattern on the table. He didn't think there was any way out of this. If Kanan could feel his pain through the Force, then so too could Ezra feel Kanan's resolve. He knew his teacher wasn't going to let this go without getting to the bottom of it.

"I found a piece of fruit while we were out picking up the explosives ingredients."

"When you say you found it . . ." Kanan prompted gently.

"I didn't steal it!"

"I didn't think you did," Kanan said. And Ezra could tell that was true. Kanan didn't think he'd stolen it. "So you found it . . . on the ground?"

Something about Kanan's voice made Ezra think he'd already figured out what had happened, so Ezra was very careful not to look up at him, even though he heard no judgment in Kanan's voice.

"No. I found it in the top of a trashcan."

Kanan's hand fell back to Ezra's shoulder, surprising him. He almost looked up before remembering his resolve.

"There was nothing wrong with it. It only had two bites taken out of it, and it wasn't rotten, or wormy or anything. It would have been a waste if I just left it there," Ezra muttered, defending himself. "I just didn't want it to go to waste."

"It's alright, Ezra."

Those words surprised Ezra so much that he looked up by accident. Kanan's eyes were sad, but not pity-filled. He looked . . . he looked like he understood.

Ezra's jaw hung loose for a moment, then he quickly snapped it shut and averted his gaze.

Kanan kept his hand on Ezra's shoulder, a warm strong presence, and they sat in silence for nearly a full minute before Ezra finally broke it.

"Sabine thought I was disgusting."

"I'm not saying what she thought was right," Kanan said, "but I think she probably thought what you were doing was disgusting, not that you yourself were disgusting."

"That's the same thing," Ezra said waspishly.

"No, it's not, Ezra," said Kanan. "Sabine cares for you. For everyone on this ship. We're family. She'd never be disgusted by you as a person. It was only what you did that made her squeamish. There's a difference."

Ezra shrugged, not positive that was really right.

"People who have never actually been starving have no idea how much hunger can hurt, Ezra. You can't hold it against them."

Ezra really didn't know about that. He could certainly hold it against a lot of people, like all the stuffy Imperial soldiers who'd ever looked down their noses at him when he'd just been an urchin in the streets, or the wealthy Empire sympathizers who just got richer and fatter from exploiting everyone who they thought was beneath them.

But then Kanan's words sank in, and Ezra looked up at Kanan in shock and horror.

"You?"

Kanan nodded gently. "Yeah. After Order 66, when the clone troopers turned on the Jedi. I'd never been all alone before, let alone an enemy of the state. I did what I had to in order to survive. At first it was sleeping in an alley and picking food out of Dumpsters. Later it was stealing and smuggling."

"I'm sorry," Ezra said. He didn't like the thought of Kanan having to do the things he himself had done. Eating out of the garbage didn't seem that bad when he was the one doing it, but the idea of Kanan being forced to made Ezra's chest ache. The idea of Kanan starving, and being in that kind of pain made his eyes start to sting because he knew, he _knew_ how much it hurt to be so hungry like that.

"Kid," said Kanan, letting go of Ezra's shoulder, only so he could drape his whole arm around Ezra's shoulders, "You don't have a damn thing to be sorry for. None of that was your fault. And honestly, it was a lesson I needed to learn."

Ezra looked at Kanan curiously, not sure what he meant. Kanan picked up on those cues and elaborated.

"The Jedi taught a lot of good lessons. Kindness and compassion were their hallmarks. But there were still plenty among us who would have looked down their noses at someone who had to eat out of the trash to survive," Kanan said, looking slightly ashamed. "Once, I was one of those."

Ezra didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't deny that he believed that was true. He'd thought he was going to be facing Kanan's judgment only minutes ago, when he admitted that he'd snagged a single piece of discarded fruit out of the top of a trashcan. But that didn't mean he wanted Kanan to have shared experience with him and how it felt to have to eat out of garbage cans.

Impulsively, Ezra flung an arm around Kanan in a quick, clumsy hug. Contact like that wasn't something he'd done much of on the street, unless he was pick pocketing someone. Showing affection was something he was very out of practice with. But he couldn't learn something like this and not make an effort to try.

"I wish you never had to learn that lesson," Ezra whispered quickly, then just as quickly pulled away, because he could feel Kanan's arms rising to trap him in the hug, and that would be too awkward, too close, for too long, and too strange for him. Too soon.

Kanan made no effort to grab him, beyond putting a hand lightly on his shoulder again.

He could say an awful lot by just putting his hand on Ezra's shoulder, as Ezra had learned. And right now the message was very clear.

 _It's alright._

And even though, in some ways it wasn't, in others it really was. Or it would be someday. Being around his new family made Ezra believe that. Maybe against his better judgment, but he couldn't help but believe it still.

But for the moment, enough things were alright. Ezra gave Kanan a tentative smile, and a nod, then retreated before Zeb and Sabine could finish up and come crowd him, or give him disgusted looks again. He wanted to hold onto this feeling that things were alright for as long as he could.

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated. So is constructive criticism. Differences in opinion are welcome, as is polite debate. Flames will be deleted but will not become one with the Force after their demise.


	4. Hunger: Part Three

Notice: I have not been driven away or scared off by flamers. Sorry to those who I worried with my absence. One of my friends gave me advice for dealing with flamers, which gave me more food for thought, which led to inspiration for a new fic. See my note at the bottom for more details!

* * *

Hunger: Part Three (Final Part of the Hunger Arc)

"Ezra?" Sabine poked her head tentatively into the common room but the only one there was Kanan.

He frowned at her, making Sabine guess that Ezra had told him about their dispute in the marketplace. It was clear at a glance whose side Kanan was taking. And Sabine couldn't blame him. She'd been in the wrong.

Kanan seemed to recognize her repentance however, probably from her expression. Because his own expression softened a little before he answered her.

"Ezra went to his room. I think he needs to be alone for awhile."

"Oh. Okay. Right." Sabine's shoulders drooped slightly. "I . . . sorry."

Kanan nodded, accepting her apology for what it was really for.

Sabine was glad. Kanan knew how to keep things from becoming too awkward. And it would have been awkward beyond belief to admit what she'd thought about people who ate out of the garbage before learning that Kanan had been one of them, even if she was apologizing for it.

At least Kanan was understanding and forgiving. She hoped he'd passed some of that on to his Padawan.

But with Ezra temporarily off limits, Sabine found herself at a loss for what to do. After messing up like this, she couldn't just stand around waiting, doing nothing. Eventually, Sabine made her way back to her own room and pulled out her sketchbook. She didn't have a clear idea of what she was doing, but that was often how her best work started out.

At first she thought that she was pulling colors at random. But as the shapes she marked on the paper became clear, so did the reason for her subconscious choices. The heavenly blue of Ezra's eyes. The aqua of Kanan's. And the gleaming yellow of Zeb's. And every other detail done in different shades of grey.

Ezra was a child in her picture, not quite as young as he was in the holo of his family that she'd found for him, but still far too young to be out on the streets alone, in front of his old house with all its condemned by the Empire markings, where she'd drawn him, hunched in on himself against the cold. His cheeks were hollow and his feet were bare.

Zeb was on the ground, kneeling, using his bo-rifle to keep himself upright and from falling face first into the shrouded corpses all around him. Sabine seemed to have subconsciously taken a little artistic license there. She knew that any corpses from the genocide on Lasan wouldn't have been treated with enough dignity to be shrouded. Not that there would have been enough left to be shrouded. T-7 Ion Disruptors didn't just kill, they melted. But what she was trying to emphasize was clear. Zeb, amongst all the dead, alone.

Then there was Kanan, younger than he'd been when Sabine first met him, but older than he probably had been when Order 66 was given. He wore Jedi robes, or what had once been Jedi robes. They were burned from blaster fire, ripped, frayed, and stained with dark blotches intended to be blood in Sabine's picture. His face was in anguish as he stood on top of fallen clone troopers while cutting down even more. Behind him, on the ground, was another robed figure. But beyond the fact that it wore Jedi robes, nothing else could be told about it except that he or she was probably dead.

Technically speaking, Sabine decided once she was finished, the picture was near perfect. Subjectively speaking, it was horrible. Portraying her friends like that made her feel dead inside. And she'd just captured every horrible detail perfectly in her sketchbook, putting it down on paper.

To get it out of her mind.

Sabine tore the page out of her sketchbook, grabbed a sparkstick, and lit it up. Then she held the picture over her waste basket gingerly by the top corners as the flames ate away at the page from the bottom up, burning the horrible images out of the universe.

If only, Sabine thought as the flames reached her fingers, and she dropped the remainder of the destroyed page into the waste basket, if only it was so easy to really obliterate what happened.

She did realize that what they had been through had shaped her friends into who they were today. But that didn't mean she couldn't wish that it had never happened. Even if it would have meant they'd be very different people, and that she might never have met them. Sabine didn't think it was wrong to want the best for people you loved.

With a sigh, Sabine left her room, realizing that a lot more time had passed than she'd originally planned to let go by before finding Ezra. It was night by the Ghost's standards. Not that it was an easy thing to keep track of, when moving between planets whose days might have any number of hours in them, or timezones on those planets. But the dimmer lighting on the ship meant most of her shipmates were probably asleep.

Sabine paused in front of Ezra's door but quickly decided against waking him up. It would mean waking Zeb up too. Her apology could wait until morning. It was important, but not to the point where she thought she should inconvenience her shipmates and deprive them of sleep.

Her stomach rumbled, so Sabine headed to the kitchen to grab a late supper before she turned in for the night too. But when she reached the kitchen, she got a surprise.

Ezra was there, sitting on the counter, nursing a mug of hot chocolate.

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but recovered quickly, giving her a shy smile. "Hi."

"Hi," said Sabine awkwardly. "I, uh –"

"There's more chocolate if you want some," Ezra said. "I accidentally made too much. I'm not good at measuring and, yeah. I ended up with almost another full mug, so that's in the conservator if you want it."

Sabine looked at him in surprise. She didn't detect any lingering resentment in Ezra's voice or expression. Had he forgiven her already, without her even apologizing? That . . . .

That actually sounded like something Ezra would do. He wasn't the most forgiving person in the galaxy, but when it was his friends who'd wronged him he had a bigger blind spot. Especially for Sabine.

She was off the hook. Ezra seemed to be making it clear that he'd put the matter behind them if she did the same. It was an easy out to take. But Sabine couldn't do it. Ezra deserved an apology.

"Ezra, I wanted to apologize to you," Sabine said. "About the things I said today and the way I treated you. I didn't think – I never knew –"

"Apology accepted," Ezra said lightly.

"You shouldn't forgive me that easily, Ezra. What I said was really horrible," said Sabine.

Ezra looked perplexed. "Do . . . you want me to be angry at you?"

"No, but I – I just don't think how I acted should be forgiven so easily," admitted Sabine.

Now Ezra looked uncomfortable. "That's something else you learn on the street."

"What?"

"What to let go," Ezra said.

"I don't understand."

"Hmmm, well, you know how kids tend to storm around everywhere, proclaiming everything they don't like as not fair?" Ezra asked.

"Yes," said Sabine slowly.

"You get over that phase real quick if you end up living on the streets. Nothing's fair, and complaining about it won't make it fair, so that's like the first thing you learn to let go. Well, that and table manners," Ezra said, smirking in a self depreciating way. "But the longer you're out there, the more things you have to let go by because they're not worth holding onto. All the people who cross to the other side of the street so they don't have to walk by you, or the parents who won't let their kids play with you, like they think all street kids have scurrier's disease."

Sabine pressed her mouth into a thin line.

"You only hold onto the grudges against people who really deserve it," Ezra said, his eyes suddenly taking a slightly savage look. "Like the off duty stormtroopers who think it's fun to break a kid's fingers as a warning against pickpockets. Even if you didn't even try pickpocketing him yet. Or merchants who try to call down the Imperial guard on you for picking through the stuff that they threw out."

Sabine felt her heart break even more than it already had that day, as Ezra spoke. Her gaze fell to his fingers, and even though she couldn't see any obvious scars from breaking, she had the feeling that he wasn't just using that as an example. That had happened to him. That, and probably worse.

She strode forward very deliberately, then wrapped her arms around Ezra.

The smaller teen froze. Literally. She might as well have been hugging a statue for all the response she got from him. But that in itself was a response as well.

 _He doesn't feel comfortable with such close contact_ , Sabine thought, and gently released him from her hug. Probably another thing picked up from his time on the street. It would have been funny, maybe, under different circumstances. Ezra was trying so hard to get closer to her, but when she hugged him he was thrown way out of his comfort zone.

"You're a good guy," said Sabine. She almost said "kid" but caught herself at the last instant. She might still see him as a kid, but she didn't want to offend him now by calling him that.

"Uh, thanks?" Ezra offered, looking as uncertain as she'd ever seen him.

Sabine smiled, helped herself to the mug of chocolate in the conservator, then perched on the counter beside Ezra. She sat close enough to be company, but not so close that she'd crowd him, and after a minute or two, Ezra relaxed.

As the two drank their chocolate in companionable silence, Sabine stole glances at Ezra now and again. He could have gone a whole different way, she realized, and really thought about it for the first time.

Alone on the streets, his parents gone, survival the only thing on his mind, and nothing but his own conscience as a moral compass. And with those latent Jedi powers. Ezra really could have turned out very differently.

They were lucky to have found him, realized Sabine now. So lucky.

And from now on, she would do her best to make sure that Ezra was lucky to have found them too.

* * *

Like I mentioned at the beginning of the fic, I'm back, after getting some advice from my writing mentor/fellow Hunter in Destiny and taking some time to think things over at her suggestion. She gives good advice. And inspired my new fic: _aLIEz._ Which, if you've liked seeing Ezra tossing back death sticks and defiantly defending himself for eating out of garbage cans, you will probably like as well.

And if you didn't like that, it's clear the only reason you're still reading is because you want to troll me, and I doubt you'll listen if I tell you that you probably shouldn't read my new fic either. But when you do, I promise you'll hate me even more (Because if you know anything about Hunters in Destiny then you know we troll back. And Ezra's first use of a Jedi mind trick is dedicated to you!).

So, I hope you'll all read _aLIEz_ , in which during _Spark of Rebellion,_ Ezra is abandoned by the Ghost's crew, on Kallus's Star Destroyer, proceeds to hijack said Star Destroyer, and ends up starting down a path that, before long has him dancing on the edge of a knife between the Light and Dark sides of the Force. And the only thing anchoring Ezra to the side of the light? A certain Force sensitive teen he picks up on Tatooine who can only barely keep his new friend in line on their adventures, and is loving every minute of it.

Reviews are always welcome. Flames cannot stand up against the Lead Scout's Cloak.


	5. Scars: Part One

Scars: Part One

* * *

"Alright, we're in! Go!" shouted Sabine as she dragged the barely lucid Ezra a few steps further into the hold.

"Going," Hera said over the comm. Her voice was calm, but solemn enough to convey that she knew the urgency of the situation.

Sabine cringed as a blaster bolt streaked by her head and sizzled into the wall. Thankfully, the hatch was closing behind her. Hera's work, she knew.

"Stay l-low," Ezra advised as another bolt managed to get in, though this one missed them both by a comfortable margin. He looked up at her groggily, looking a bit like a drenched loth-rat, between soaked strands of hair.

"Right," Sabine said. Then into her comm, "Kanan, can you get down here? I need some help. It's the kid. He's not hurt, we just need a hand."

"On my way," Kanan said instantly. It seemed like for once they weren't being pursued by any TIES. At least not yet. They could spare the manpower so she'd have help with what needed to happen next.

"Want . . . go to my bunk," Ezra said, trying to pull himself along the floor to the ladder. "Sleep."

"Not quite yet, kid," Sabine said, seizing the back of his vest.

"But 'm tired." Ezra looked miserably sleepy.

"I know. But first we need to get you out of those clothes."

"Whaaz?" Ezra looked bewildered.

Sabine didn't see any reason to waste time on niceties. It was clear Ezra was too out of it to understand what was actually happening. Sabine took advantage of his daze to pull the vest he wore over his coveralls off of him.

Then Ezra's eyes went wide as he seemed to get a little more . . . well, awake. Not necessarily comprehensive, but he seemed to be aware a little more of what was going on.

"No. Stop."

"Now's not the time for modesty, Ezra," said Sabine as she rolled him onto his back and started unbuttoning his coveralls.

"No. Stop," repeated Ezra, struggling.

That was how Kanan and Zeb found them only moments later, with Sabine trying to wrestle Ezra out of his sedative soaked clothes.

"What's going on?" asked Kanan warily. Sabine could tell he was only a step away from declaring he didn't want to know and leaving her to it.

"Make . . . her . . . stop," huffed Ezra, still trying to fight.

Kanan raised an eyebrow and looked at Sabine. "What happened?"

"He fell into a vat of sedatives," Sabine explained, halting her attempt to rip Ezra's clothes off him now that others, more capable of that, had arrived. She glared as Zeb guffawed at them.

"Did not," Ezra slurred defiantly.

"Oh, all right. I kind of blew up a vat while we were escaping from the med plant," admitted Sabine. "He got wiped out by a wave of the stuff when it burst."

"You're sure it was only sedatives?" asked Kanan, kneeling by Ezra, looking concerned.

"I'm sure," Sabine said. "I checked when I preset the explosives. I had a feeling we'd need something to cover our exit."

Kanan nodded and accepted the datachip Sabine handed over, which marked the completion of another successful mission. He pocketed it, then turned back to his woozy Padawan, who was once again trying to crawl to his bunk.

"We need to get those soaked clothes off him, and probably shower him off in the fresher before we let him sleep it off," said Sabine.

"N-no," Ezra insisted, struggling when Kanan lifted him into sitting position and started unbuttoning his coveralls. "No. Don't. Don't."

His breathing grew rapid, his struggles blind and frantic.

"Please. Don't."

Inwardly, Sabine flinched. She couldn't help but remember Ezra's upbringing now. Ezra's time on the streets. There was real fear in his eyes as he tried to fend off Kanan, and she couldn't help but think of and fear what that might mean.

Judging from the dark look that flickered over Kanan's face, and the way Zeb had stopped laughing, they'd both realized too.

"It's alright, kid," said Kanan soothingly. "It's just me."

"So stop. You can't," Ezra turned his face away from them and his eyes drooped, even though he was visibly struggling to focus. "You can't . . ."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ezra," said Kanan. "You know that. You're safe."

Ezra's eyes focused on his mentor. "Kanan . . ."

"Yeah. It's me. And it's alright."

"Stop." Ezra clung to Kanan's hand, trying to stop him from peeling off his coveralls any further. "You can't. You can't."

"It's alright, Ezra. Trust me," said Kanan. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You can't see," Ezra cried out, then suddenly seemed to lose all strength. His fingers slipped off Kanan's and his hand fell down to his side. His eyes fluttered as he valiantly tried to hold onto consciousness for a few moments more.

"It's alright, kid," said Kanan. "You don't have to be embarrassed. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

Ezra gave him one last desperate look before his eyes closed.

"Well, it's certainly something I haven't seen before, and I'd like to keep it that way," said Sabine as Kanan started to work unhindered on ridding Ezra of his sedative soaked clothes. "So if you don't need my help, I'll be going now."

A sharp intake of breath from Kanan and a softly uttered swear stopped her halfway up the ladder. She turned and looked back down, suddenly worried. Had she missed some injury, getting Ezra out of the medplant? Had he been shot? Or had he hit that other vat harder than she thought, when the wave hit him? Did he have broken ribs or . . .

Her eyes fell on Ezra's exposed skin then, and her jaw went slack in horror.

Because Ezra's skin was a collage of varying scars.

On his right arm were tally marks cut into his skin. Four straight slashes running up and down, connected by a longer diagonal slash that cut through them. Then four more straight lines. Someone had used his skin to count to nine, carving their count into his flesh.

Near his right collarbone were burn marks, small and circular. And lots of them. Sabine counted at least a dozen at a glance. Their shape was too perfect, and their placement to imperfect to be anything accidental. Someone had taken something hot and round, like a cigarra, and pressed it against Ezra's skin repeatedly, again and again, burning those little circles into his flesh.

On his left arm, at his elbow joint, were needle scars. Sabine felt bile rise in her throat, which she forced down. It seemed that death sticks weren't the only drug Ezra had tested for credits.

Then there was a wretchedly suspicious scar over his left wrist, that was perhaps more worrying than everything else combined.

There were various other small scars that weren't too bad and could have come from anything, plenty of things accidental and unnefarious. Then there were a few more that looked sinister, like an almost surgically straight scar running down the side of his stomach, and what could have been a botched slave brand over his heart.

But then there was Ezra's back. Covered in long, slender scars that stood out, a dark purplish pink on his beige skin. Those scars were unmistakably whipping marks.

"Karabast," Zeb swore.

Sabine tore her eyes away. No wonder Ezra had been fighting them so hard, even though he knew it was them. He hadn't been afraid of being assaulted. He'd been trying to keep them from seeing all the scars that his clothes usually kept hidden. All the evidence of his past helplessness.

Her eyes went to Kanan, and his expression sent a thrum of fear though her, even though she knew his anger wasn't directed at her at all. Because she had never seen Kanan look so scary before in her life. Helpless anger marred his handsome face as he held his Padawan against his chest, like he was trying to protect him.

But he couldn't protect Ezra from his past. It had already happened. There was no changing it, no undoing this damage. Those marks were there to stay, permanent testimony to the many hardships Ezra had faced, and the times he'd lived through that made him think he had to do everything himself, never trusting anyone else, never being able to depend on anyone.

"Kanan. _Kanan,"_ Zeb said, jolting Kanan out of his angry daze. "We need to get the kid washed off. Being soaked in sedatives isn't good for anyone."

"Right," said Kanan. He still looked a little dazed and blinked several times, like he was trying to collect his thoughts. "Right."

Then he looked back down at the scars that marred his Padawan's skin. His jaw clenched.

But he stood, lifting Ezra, glaring when Zeb offered to take the kid, since he could climb up the ladder easier with an unconscious human over his shoulder. Zeb backed off quickly in the face of that glare. And Kanan carried Ezra the rest of the way to the fresher, still half dressed.

Sabine and Zeb trailed after him until the refresher door shut behind him.

Ten minutes later, Kanan emerged, carrying Ezra wrapped in towels, one around his waist, the other around his torso. Ezra was completely out of it. Not once did he twitch or stir on the way to his room.

After Kanan put Ezra to bed, he went and found Sabine and Zeb in the common room, sitting around the holochess board but not playing, looking lost and restless.

"We won't be talking about this," Kanan told them.

They looked up startled.

"But –" Sabine started to say.

"It's not our place to ask questions about it," said Kanan flatly. "Ezra is going to know that we know. Even though he clearly didn't want us to know. If there's anything else he does want us to know, then he'll tell us. But it's not our place to press him about this."

"You're going to tell Hera about this?" Zeb asked.

Kanan just gave him a look. One that said of course he was going to tell Hera. Neither Zeb nor Sabine thought it was a good idea to argue with that. Perhaps it was a breach of Ezra's privacy, but Hera was the closest thing the kid had to a mother now, and this was the kind of thing parents needed to know.

"I won't say or ask anything about his scars," promised Sabine, knowing that's what Kanan was waiting for.

Kanan looked to Zeb.

"Of course I'm not going to either," Zeb said angrily. "He'll tell us when he's ready. Or more likely it'll come out on its own, probably at the worst possible time. But I'm not such a brute that I'd go and try to force it out of him."

Kanan relaxed very slightly now that he had their word. "I know," he admitted. Then he turned, heading toward the cockpit, where their captain was certainly waiting for an update.

"Kanan."

Kanan paused and glanced back at Zeb.

"Try to remember, he turned out alright. Whatever happened, he survived it. And he's got us now, to make sure he never has to go it alone again."

Kanan gave a curt nod, then continued on his way to talk to Hera.

They never did find out where Ezra had gotten all of those scars. But in time, they did find out where he got most of them.

* * *

Thank you for all your suggestions and support. I've gotten a lot of requests for a chapter about Ezra having some specific type of scar or another, so this is kind of what's come of those.

I will be continuing the Scars Arc (which is why this chapter is labeled "Scars: Part One") but the Scars chapters will be broken up by other chapters about other incidents in the life of our favorite stray Padawan because it takes a long time for Ezra to be comfortable enough to divulge that kind of information. And even after that, it's not like he'd ever just spill it all at once. Because we've seen how Ezra likes to play his cards close to his vest.

But, like Zeb predicts, there will also be incidents where the truth about those scars comes out on its own. And the timing is just as rotten as he predicts too.

Please leave a review on your way out. Flames will be dealt with using a cortosis blade.


	6. Friends in Low Places

Friends in Low Places

(after the angstfest of the past five chapters I've posted, I felt like writing something a little on the lighter side to break it up. So I did.)

(takes place a month or so after the last chapter)

* * *

Old Jho's Pit Stop was about the safest cantina on Lothal. Unpopular amongst the Imperials, friendly to rebels, too far out of the way for off-world bad elements like bounty hunters, and with the added bonus of ship maintenance and repair facilities made it a pretty much perfect place for the crew of the Ghost to visit on the rare occasions when they had a little down time and a few extra credits.

"No gambling this time," Hera warned with a glare in Zeb's direction as she saw the Lasat's eyes stray toward the tables.

"Killjoy," Zeb muttered, heading to the bar for a drink, with Kanan, as the rest of the crew spread out, Hera going to talk with one of Jho's mechanics, Chopper plugging into a power station, and Sabine going over to look at some notices posted on the holoboard. Ezra had drawn the short straw and been tasked with finishing the diagnostics for the ship and cataloguing them and any parts they might need for repairs. He'd be along sooner or later. Probably later, considering the damage the Phantom had taken in a recent fire fight. But that was the kid's problem, not Zeb's. He fully intended to enjoy the rare night off that the rest of them were getting.

A few drinks later, his credits moderately depleted, Zeb and the rest of the crew started to make their way toward the exit. Ezra hadn't made an appearance yet, which wasn't completely unexpected, and most likely meant that this pit stop would be an overnight one, since the Phantom's damage had been so extensive.

They spotted him as they left the cantina, silhouetted by the moonlight on top of the Ghost, working on the Phantom where it was docked on its mother ship. From the looks of things, he'd just finished, because he slammed shut the engine port he'd been working in, secured it, then slid off the ship, landing as lightly as a loth-cat on his feet.

"I only told him to run diagnostics, not do repairs," said Hera, sounding a little guilty. "Did any of you tell him to do repairs?"

Negatives all around.

"Maybe he did it because he wanted to," Kanan suggested, a glint of pride shining in his eyes as Ezra dusted off his hands and turned to head into the Ghost.

Just as suddenly as that glint appeared it vanished, replaced by suspicion and concern. Zeb was about to ask what was wrong when he saw it too. A dark humanoid shape moved out of the shadows near the base of the Ghost and grabbed Ezra, roughly restraining him with an arm that pinned the kid's arms to his sides. And a blaster was thrust under his chin, his attacker pressing so hard that Ezra's head was forced back so far that he was staring at the sky.

A growl forced its way through Zeb's throat, and had him pulling his bo-rifle off his back, even though he knew he couldn't use it, not with Ezra being held by his assailant with a blaster under his chin. Even if he'd been completely sober, he wouldn't have risked that shot. Kanan, Sabine, and Hera had all drawn weapons as well, and Chopper was brandishing his electric prod, chattering and beeping angrily. Together they ran forward.

"Haven't learned a thing, have you, brat?" the person holding Ezra was taunting as they got close enough to hear.

"I've learned basic addition and subtraction. Subtracting matter from my skull would add a big mess to your shirt," Ezra said so cheerfully that Zeb wanted to slap him for not taking this serious.

"What about if I added my fist to your smart mouth, huh?"

"Well, that would subtract a couple of my teeth," said Ezra.

"And if we added a few blaster bolts to this guy's chest?" Kanan asked, interrupting their banter.

Zeb had seen people react a lot of different ways to being drawn on, with or without hostages in the mix. This guy's reaction was completely opposite of what any of them had expected. Instead of shoring up his defenses, holding Ezra out in front of him as a shield, and threatening to blast his brains out, the guy spun, roughly shoving Ezra behind himself, so that he stood between Ezra and the rest of the crew, with Ezra unrestrained at his back. And he fired first.

His first shot nearly hit Kanan's blaster. Only Kanan's Jedi reflexes kept him from being disarmed. His second shot disarmed Hera. He'd taken that second shot before realizing that his first shot hadn't hit its mark. Before he could get a third off, Kanan fired, hitting his blaster out of his grip.

"Run, brat!" the guy shouted.

Meanwhile Ezra started shouting over him and quickly put himself in front of his disarmed assailant. "Stop! Hold your fire! Don't kill him, I know this idiot!"

"What?" demanded Zeb.

"I know this idiot," repeated Ezra. "We're . . . old . . . friends? I guess?"

"That didn't look like a very friendly greeting," observed Sabine.

Ezra shrugged helplessly. "It's our tradition?"

"You think it's alright for him to put a blaster under your chin and press up so hard you're staring at the stars?" Kanan asked, sounding like he was still very much in a temper. "What if his finger slipped?"

"Well, it wouldn't put his eye out, old man," Ezra's friend said.

"You could have killed him." Zeb had rarely heard Hera sound colder than she sounded right now.

"Solo's not that careless," Ezra was quick to defend his friend. And wasn't that weird? The idea of the kid having friends other than them? Zeb knew that despite the kid's bravado about doing everything on his own and not needing anyone else, or being able to depend on them, there had to be a few people out there that the kid had been on fair terms with. They'd run across a few of his parents' old friends, but Ezra had always labeled them as such, never claiming them as his own friends. To be in the presence of someone Ezra was willing to call a friend now was a little weird. Especially after this first impression.

But for the record, Zeb was not jealous. He didn't care that Ezra was standing so comfortably with this idiot at his back, the way he'd only just recently started standing when one of the Ghost crew was at his back. Like this hotshot had done something to earn the Loth-rat's trust and loyalty. Zeb _didn't_ care.

"As you've probably realized, the brat here doesn't need your help right now," Solo said. And why was he allowed to call the kid a brat with no protests from Ezra? "So if you don't mind, I've got some business to discuss with him."

The crew of the Ghost traded looks.

"See, brat, I've recently acquired a ship. Now I've already got a first mate, but I'm in need of someone to scrub the floors and do all the grunt work. How about it?"

That had Zeb seeing red like nothing else.

"Now see here!"

Ezra quickly held up a hand to stop him. "Solo, I'm sorry, but I've already got a job."

Solo looked hurt. "What, with them? On this burner?"

"Whose ship are you calling a burner?" Hera muttered.

"Just hear me out, Bridger. Hey, why don't we talk about this over drinks?" persuaded Solo.

"I'm happy with my current job, Solo . . . but it would be nice to catch up." Ezra looked to Kanan for permission.

Kanan looked none too happy about the teenager who'd been trying to steal away his Padawan, and was probably still ticked off by Solo's cavalier way of handling a blaster so close to Ezra's head. He didn't answer immediately, regarding Solo with clear suspicion and dislike.

"I promise it's fine, Kanan," Ezra said. "Before you guys, Solo was like the only person in the galaxy to ever stick his neck out for me. He killed a stormtrooper who was going to kill me."

"Brat," Solo said urgently, gripping Ezra's arm and looking warily at the Ghost crew. "What're you spreading that around for?"

"He killed a stormtrooper for you?" Hera asked, and gave a soft laugh, warming considerably. "Well, that's enough of a character recommendation for me."

Kanan gave her a sharp look.

"I take it the diagnostic's finished?" Hera asked.

"Yep. And repairs," said Ezra.

"I never asked you to do repairs."

"Uh, well, they needed to be done, so I just thought –"

"Be back on board by midnight," said Hera. "And make responsible choices. Both of you."

"Mmhmm!" Ezra agreed, his face lighting up. He grabbed Solo's arm and started pulling him toward the cantina.

Solo took just enough time to give Hera a polite nod, and a soft, "Ma'am," before going along with Ezra, picking up pace excitedly.

"Hera," Kanan said, watching them hurry away. From behind they looked like normal teenage boys, like they were friends out for a night on the town.

"Kanan."

"We don't know anything about that guy."

"How many people on this planet do you think will attack an Imperial to protect someone else?"

"That's not –"

"We see people looking the other way every day."

"I guess there are worse people who could come asking if Ezra can come out to play," said Sabine, heading up the ramp of the Ghost, clearly deciding the matter was at an end.

Hera followed, much to Kanan's chagrin.

"For all we know, that guy could have been the reason the kid was in trouble with the stormtrooper in the first place."

"Maybe. But if he stuck around to get Ezra out of trouble, that's still points in his favor, isn't it?"

"Yes, but – I don't –"

"Kanan, love. There's a lot we don't know about Ezra, but one thing we do know is that he knows how to handle himself."

Kanan bristled.

"It's not him who we don't trust," spoke up Zeb.

"That's not how Ezra will see it if we try to keep him from one of the few friends he has."

"We're his friends!" Zeb said angrily.

"One of the few off-ship friends he has," amended Hera.

"You saw what that idiot was doing with that blaster when we walked up!"

"Yes, and though I didn't approve, Ezra did promise to make more responsible choices."

"Well, Zeb just said, it's not him who we don't trust!"

"Kanan. Zeb. Look at it from Ezra's point of view for a minute. From the time he was seven, until he met up with us, he answered to no one but himself," Hera reminded them. "For seven years, he did whatever he wanted. Hung out with whoever he wanted, stayed up as late as he wanted.

"Now he lives with us, and he does what we tell him to, because he wants to continue to live with us, which is why it's important that we not abuse that. I think the reason you don't like Solo the most is because he just reminded us that Ezra doesn't have to stay with us. He's always had other options. And now he's just been given another option that doesn't involve going back to living on the streets. I for one don't think we should give him any reason to feel like he should take his friend up on it."

Zeb wanted to argue and could see that Kanan wanted to as well. But Hera's logic was sound. Neither of them could refute that. And as much as neither of them liked admitting it, she'd hit the nail on the head for why they didn't like Solo. Him trying to steal their crewmate right in front of them was the most unforgivable thing. But how he'd idiotically, jokingly, put a blaster under Ezra's chin was a very, very close second.

"What if he decides he wants to take Solo up on it after they get to talking?" asked Kanan finally, sounding defeated.

"He's your Padawan, love. Have a little faith in him."

They dispersed after that, Hera to run a few system checks with Chopper before heading to bed, to make sure Ezra's repairs checked out, Kanan to meditate away his insecurities about his ability as a teacher, and Zeb to sleep. But sleep proved elusive, for the better part of an hour. It was only after a certain bratty roommate of his snuck into their room six minutes before midnight that Zeb was finally able to nod off.

* * *

Author Note: Updates are probably going to be a little slower for awhile because I'm back at school. But nothing's been abandoned. And I'll probably have a whole new wave of inspiration after Rebels starts up again next month. Me and everyone else, lol. I'm looking forward to it.

Please leave a review on your way out. : )


	7. Sick

Sick

(we've moved into Season 2 territory)

* * *

The first they realized that Ezra wasn't feeling well was when he projectile vomited right in a stormtrooper's face. Since the buckethead was wearing, as his kind's nickname suggested, a bucket, it didn't have the full effect that it would have if he hadn't been wearing a helmet. But the shockfactor was exactly what they needed right then. As the other troopers stared or recoiled in horror, Zeb grabbed two of them by their helmets and banged them together so hard they had to be seeing stars, and Hera dropped and kicked another's legs out from under him.

Ezra gagged on air several times but managed to get himself under control quickly. He raised his hand and used the Force to summon his lightsaber to it, from off the belt of the stormtrooper who'd confiscated it. Then he used its blaster function to shoot that stormtrooper down before turning it on the one he'd just thrown up on.

There was no time for small talk right then and there. No time for Hera to berate her youngest crew member for why he hadn't told them he was so sick, or for her to mother him. And Ezra clearly didn't want them to take the time for that. He strode forward as though he hadn't just lost his lunch, and set to work, slicing the electric lock on the door that was keeping them in the transport ship's small cargo hold.

Getting captured had been part of the plan. They'd been counting on dealing with Imperials who didn't know just how dangerous they were, to keep them from being cuffed or sedated, and just putting them under a light guard until they could be transported to somewhere more secure. So far everything was going perfectly.

The door pinged open quickly, as per usual when Ezra was the one working on the locks. And as was the norm these days, he was the first one out of it. The two stormtroopers outside were down before Hera and Zeb managed to follow him into the hall. By that time Ezra was already hurrying down the hall to complete the rest of their mission, showing absolutely no signs of being less than perfectly healthy.

The rest of the plan went just like clockwork. Ezra didn't even have to slice the locks to the transport ship's cockpit. They took over the craft with ease chucking the pilot out of the cockpit, and while Hera diverted their course to the rebels' rendezvous point, Ezra fixed the door so that it couldn't be opened unless he wanted it to. At least not without heavy weapons power, the likes of which would not be found on a small transport ship like this.

It was only after Ezra finished fixing the door, and they were safely in hyperspace that Hera turned to Ezra, who had just slumped down into the seat next to her. She reached out to gently cup his face, then recoiled quickly in shock.

"You're burning up!"

"I'm fine," said Ezra. And he did a reasonable job of looking that way. Of course that didn't change the fact that he had a raging fever.

"You're not fine, Ezra," said Hera. "You're sick. You should have said something –"

"I'm not weak," Ezra huffed. "I handled myself just fine on this mission, didn't I?"

"Aside from losing your lunch in that stormtrooper's face – which, by the way, was awesome," said Zeb.

Ezra brightened slightly at the praise. "It was, wasn't it?"

"What I wouldn't give to have seen his expression," Zeb laughed.

"Zeb," Hera said sharply. She didn't need to say anymore. The look she gave him said it all. _You're not helping._

They made it to the rendezvous point about an hour later. Ezra dozed on the way. Hera disabled the ship's tracking beacon, then settled back to wait in silence. Zeb was quiet too. Had Ezra been awake, the two would have bantered and picked at each other. But with him being asleep and sick, no one needed to tell Zeb to leave him be.

When they arrived at the rendezvous point, other Rebels boarded and subdued the rest of the stormtroopers on board. Then they took captive their target: a sycophantic senator who knew the locations of most, if not all, of the Empire's political prisoners. Then Hera had to wake Ezra up so that he could undo whatever he'd done to the door.

It took him about seven seconds to undo it, whatever it was, but it had kept the stormtroopers on the ship out the entire ride. Hera and Zeb had kept their blasters ready the entire way, just in case Ezra's hacking measures failed, but they hadn't needed them.

As soon as the doors were open, Ezra bolted. Right past Kanan and Rex, cutting between the two of them as he made a mad dash to the fresher, a green tinge to his face.

"Whoa!" Kanan said in surprise. "Kid, where're you –"

"Ezra's sick," said Hera. She fixed Kanan with a look. A look that asked a question and promised trouble if she didn't like his answer.

"No, I didn't know," Kanan said immediately. He turned in the direction Ezra had gone and Hera could tell he was feeling through their bond. "I still wouldn't know if you hadn't told me."

"Even though, at this moment, he's currently puking up his guts in the fresher?" asked Zeb. "I thought you Jedi could sense things like this with each other."

"Not when they have shields up," said Rex. When the others all looked at him he shrugged. "My Jedi were the same. As attuned and devoted to each other as any Master and Padawan. But also not the types to let a bug keep them out of a fight. Sometimes stubbornness is a Jedi's best weapon. Or in this case defense."

Kanan didn't look appeased by this information. "He should have told me. He should have told all of us if he was sick enough to put the mission at risk."

Zeb waved his worry away. "If he's ever that sick he won't be able to stand. Then we'll all know he's not fit for a mission. Don't take this so seriously."

Hera frowned. "I'd say you're not the one taking this seriously enough."

Zeb met her gaze head on, uncowed. "I'm taking it as seriously as I need to. But before you turn into Momzilla, remember where he comes from, Hera. Remember what he told you when you said he should have told us?"

Hera realized Zeb was trying to get at something and made an effort to recall exactly what had been said. "He said he wasn't weak. But we know that, Zeb. And Ezra knows we know that."

"Yeah, he does. But I'm pretty sure it's still ingrained in him not to look weak, no matter what. Don't forget, that's one of the rules of survival when you're on the streets," Zeb said, looking at Kanan, who grimaced.

Hera grimaced too. "Surely you're not telling us to just ignore it whenever he's sick, for the sake of appearances suddenly mattering to him?"

Zeb grinned evilly. "Oh no, not at all. I'm just saying to keep in mind why he didn't tell us. And to trust me to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Zeb," said Kanan, suddenly sounding as wary as Hera felt. "What are you planning to do?"

Zeb grinned unabashedly. "I'm going to tell Sabine. And Ahsoka. And anyone else who'll listen. And then I'm going to rag on Ezra about it, until he's well and truly mortified, so that the next time he's sick and there's a mission, he'll think twice about going, if there's a chance a repeat performance. Trust me, Hera. That'll get the message through to him more than any amount of mothering and sympathizing will.

Zeb was probably right, much as Hera was loath to admit it. So she gave him a slight nod, all but giving him permission. "Just wait until he's better before you start the merciless teasing about this."

There was more than one way to teach a lesson. Hera had always known that, but dealing with Ezra and the many problems that arose from his upbringing on the streets kept reminding her, and driving that point home.

But they were making progress. Incidents like this were getting fewer and further between. Slowly, over time, Ezra had come to realize that he had a place here with them. That they weren't going to get rid of him, and that they valued him just as much as any other member of the crew. They were a family.

So they could deal with the occasional baggage or habit leftover from Ezra's sordid past. Whatever trouble he'd caused them, and whatever trouble he would cause them still, he was more than worth it.

* * *

Question: Do you want next chapter to be a follow up to this incident, or should next chapter be the next misadventure? Please leave your opinion in a review. Or just leave a review in general. I'm not picky. : p


	8. Scars: Part Two

Scars: Part Two

Burn Scars

* * *

Despite Ezra's usual forgiving and laid back attitude, there were a few things he did hold grudges about, and there were times when his temper did flare up. On those occasions, something dark and dangerous reared its head, and Ezra was transformed into someone who might as well have been a stranger, his personality was so different. But on those occasions, he always had a sound reason for being so angry. Sabine learned after just one experience seeing him like this, that it was a mistake to argue with him during these episodes.

The first time she saw that side of Ezra, they were in Old Jho's and there was a cute guy at the bar with some amazing tattoos. Sabine took notice of the artwork, especially their designs. Most of them were fire motifs of one sort or another. But the one that really stuck out to her was a firey bright orange and red bird amongst a field of stars. The legendary Starbird. And the symbol of the budding rebellion.

So naturally, Sabine went to chat him up. It was certainly no hardship. He was a few years older than her, but only a few. Very good looking. The only thing that Sabine didn't like about him, at a glance, was that he was a smoker. Cigarras weren't her thing. In her opinion, they smelled nasty. Even the ones that weren't horrible for your lungs. But she wasn't so closeminded that she wrote off everyone who smoked them without bothering to learn anything else about them.

"Hey. Nice tats," she said as a greeting, when she slid onto the barstool beside him.

The guy turned a pair of dark, smouldering eyes on her and smiled. They got to talking. His name, she learned, was Chaz, and he was into pyrography, or the art of burning writing and designs into wood, or other materials. He had a friend who was a tattoo artist, but he'd designs his own tattoos himself. He didn't make any obvious references to being a Rebel, but Sabine was very subtle in trying to ask. And she got a little sidetracked. She often did when talking about art.

Then, without warning, Ezra cut in. He slid into the gap between Sabine's and Chaz's barstools and kicked the crossbar of Chaz's, sending him sliding back at least a foot. Chaz wobbled and nearly fell but he managed to grab onto the bar for balance just in time.

"Ezra, what are you doing?" asked Sabine angrily. She thought that this was exactly what it looked like. That Ezra was jealous, and charging in to drive off the competition. But when Ezra spoke, the moment she heard his voice, she realized that something was different.

"You should leave. Right now."

There was a quiet, almost harmonious fury in Ezra's voice that Sabine had never heard before. Not even when he was confronted with Tseebo, who'd abandoned him and betrayed his parents. Nor when he was facing down inquisitors. This tone was far, far more dangerous.

Chaz looked over Ezra's head and tried to smile at Sabine, but she could tell he too sensed something dangerous in Ezra. "Your little brother?"

"No," said Ezra coldly, before Sabine could speak. "I'm not her brother. I'm the kid you and your loser friends thought it would be fun to hold down and burn with your cigarras, repeatedly. Remember now?"

Chaz's expression wavered, involuntarily answering Ezra's question.

Sabine's anger had dissipated the moment she heard the tone of Ezra's voice and realized this wasn't a jealous fit. But now, learning what this was really about, sent a thrum of horror down her spine. Horror and repulsion. She almost couldn't believe what she'd just heard. But Ezra was dead serious and she knew he wasn't lying.

"I don't know what you're talking about –"

"You know that's what people say when they know exactly what you're talking about," sneered Ezra. "I'll give you one more chance. And you will take it. Because you're a coward, and a piece of shit. And you don't have anyone backing you up right now. And I'm not the helpless little boy I was a couple years ago. Kids grow up fast on the streets. And they grow up mean. But since Sabine'll probably be upset if I shred your face and get your blood all over her, I'm giving you this one final chance. Leave. Right now."

Chaz left. In a hurry. He knocked over his barstool in his haste. Someone caught the barstool before it hit the ground, and Sabine was a little surprised, but not really, when she recognized the face of Ezra's friend. The one who they'd met at this cantina before. The jerk who'd tried to poach Ezra for his own crew. Solo, Ezra had called him.

There was an odd look in his eyes. Like maybe he was a little unsettled by what he'd heard. But there was a no mistaking the clench of his jaw. He was furious on Ezra's behalf. Sabine couldn't blame him. She knew that she should be furious too. That would probably come after the shock of all this wore off.

"Ezra . . ." Sabine didn't know what to say. But she felt like she had to say something.

Ezra turned and looked at her. Sabine flinched under his gaze. No wonder Chaz had practically run out of there. And no wonder Solo looked unsettled. The rage contained in his eyes was so cold that Sabine actually shivered.

Kanan arrived at a run before anything more could be said. He must have been sensing Ezra's emotions, because he was clearly ready for trouble. His lightsaber was in his hands, still in two pieces, but ready to be put together and turned on at a moment's notice. His eyes took in Sabine, standing there dumbly, Ezra statue still, and Solo, well, Solo was halfway to the door, so Kanan didn't see him. But Sabine did. The way he was moving, the anger and intent in every stride, made it clear to her what his purpose was. Chaz reached the door only a few moments before Solo, and when Solo reached it, he turned right, just like Chaz had.

Several thoughts went through Sabine's mind quickly then, the first being, _Good_. Because Chaz deserved to pay for what he did to Ezra. The second thought was one of jealousy and possessiveness. Solo shouldn't have been the one who had priority for giving Chaz the beating he deserved. Ezra was the Ghost crew's. Kanan and Hera might not approve, but they didn't have to know. She, Zeb, and Chopper could settle things up with Chaz. They should be settling things up with Chaz. But instead it was Solo who –

"What's going on?" Kanan asked. He was clearly puzzled. Hera too. She'd followed Kanan, not knowing what was going on, anymore than he had, only that trouble was afoot.

"I – we – we should leave," said Sabine. "We're not in danger or anything, but we should –"

"We shouldn't leave," Ezra said. "We're fine here."

"Kid, you're radiating dark emotions," said Kanan, dropping his voice slightly. "I think we should probably get back to the Ghost."

"Kanan," Ezra said, his voice vibrating with anger. "I said I'm fine."

"Kanan," said Sabine quickly. "Let him stay. Please. Let me talk to him."

She looked up at Kanan pleadingly, and saw his reluctance. So she turned her pleading look to Hera, hoping that Hera would understand. And she seemed to, because Hera touched Kanan's arm and said something softly to him. Finally, very reluctantly, Kanan relented.

"Curfew's in half an hour. Make sure you're back on board by then," he said. Then he and Hera retreated back to the table against the wall they'd been sitting at before. Sabine could literally feel Kanan's eyes on them as she sat down beside Ezra, who'd taken Chaz's barstool.

Ezra ordered a drink from Old Jho. One that he technically wasn't old enough to order yet. But Sabine doubted any bartender would refuse to serve Ezra when he was wearing that look on his face. She waited until he'd gotten his drink and downed half of it in one swallow before trying to talk to him.

"Ezra –"

"Don't," said Ezra.

"What?"

"Don't try to talk to me like you think I need reaching," said Ezra. "Like you think talking is going to make this situation any better."

"Sometimes," said Sabine, moving her stool a little closer to his, hoping that she could reach him, "sometimes it does help to talk about your problems."

"Sometimes," agreed Ezra. "Not this time."

"Ezra –"

"When I was twelve, that sleemo you were flirting with, and two of his friends were spicing, and I stumbled across their path. And for fun, they held me down and burned my skin with a lit cigarra. Over and over again. Then when they were done, they threw me a handful of credits as compensation. Like that made it all fine. And since then, every time I smell cigarra smoke, I can't help but remember how my own flesh smelled when it was burning, and how pathetic and helpless they made me feel." Ezra paused to down the rest of his drink in one final go. "So tell me, Sabine. How can talking about that possibly help? What do you think you can say that will make it better?"

Sabine opened her mouth. But she couldn't find any words to say. There was nothing she could think of to say that would make any of this even the slightest bit better.

"That's what I thought," Ezra said. Then he called for another drink.

* * *

Enough people requested a follow up to the last chapter that I am going to write one. It's actually half finished. But I felt like writing something really dark and soulless, and this was the result. I was in a very bad mood because I watched the first episode of the new Phantasy Star Online anime, and it was so horrible that by the time the credits rolled I wanted to claw my eyes out. See, I used to play the Phantasy Star games when I was little. They were an important part of my childhood. They were fun, and set on an alien planet, and you made your own unique character, and explored the planet, and fought evil space monsters. But the anime is nothing like that.

Imagine if Star Wars Rebels, instead of being a show about actual members of the Star Wars Rebellion, was instead about people who played a videogame called Star Wars Rebels. So instead of a space adventure, you've got a school story. Where the main character is a guy who's so good at everything, that his first time playing the game he joins in a high level battle and he does spectacularly, even though he's a level nothing noob who hasn't even had time to learn the controls. Anyone who plays online videogames will tell you that this is completely unrealistic and stupid. Then there's the female lead character, who is a perfect Mary Sue, who everyone in the school loves. Literally. Every time she walks down the hall, other girls are squealing in admiration over her. They buy her things, and find out her favorite foods so they can bring them to her for lunch. That's how gagworthy she is. And she's drawn with lots of those blinking light effects to try to emphasize that she's pretty, even though she's really not well drawn. So if you can imagine being served up a show like that, with the Star Wars label tagged onto it, instead of getting an adventure series set in the Star Wars universe, you can probably understand how I feel.

Off my soap box now. I'll get back to work on the follow up chapter to Sick as soon as my schedule allows it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, angst filled though it was. Please leave a review on your way out. :)


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